Dearly Beloved
by Estriel
Summary: It all started with a dream. And then, things got pretty scary. As usual.


**_Love to all. This one's for all you poor Brits who can't find Haunted or Twilight in Bookstores yet! Order them online- it'll stop the suspense. Es xx_**

**_Disclaimer: Anyone that thinks I own anything should clearly re-read the books. _**

**_Details: S/J pairing. Ficlet._**

**_Warning: Rating for later chapters. _**

**Dearly Beloved**

Susannah Simon looked at herself in the full length mirror, with an extremely critical eye. Bruised chest, bleeding leg, scrapes along her arms and neck, and a particularly ugly bruise under her cheekbone. She'd really done it this time.

But was it really her fault that Father Dom was on vacation? And, well, things with Jesse were just so...permanently awkward? No. But it was her fault that she'd decided to go into the warehouse. Alone. Without a cell phone. And who could have known that he'd have attacked so fast? By the time it was all over, there had been not a spare breath to call for help with. And when it was over, all she could think of was getting home.

Now she was home. And, she was, for once, pleased that Jesse had slacked off appearing in her bedroom all the time. He was probably reading Plato's Critical Theory again, or maybe one of those Greek Tragedies. Maybe she'd have a chance to do a little healing and sleeping before he went off on one at her for being stupid. She'd hate it, because this time, this time, he'd have been right.

I got into my pyjamas, after bandaging and sterilising, band-aid and pain killer-ing myself thoroughly, and collapsed on the bed. I could feel the blanket of mental exhaustion giving way to unconsciousness, and my last thought was- _Jesse's going to be mad again._

I was right.

I awoke, struggling violently with my sheets, and gasping in pain, to find him staring down at me in horror. I must've called him in my sleep, or he'd decided to check on me. My heartbeat didn't slow from the nightmare, it speeded up, picking up my fear of what he would say. I looked up at him, trying to mask my nerves and pain with an apology.

"I..." I began well, going for a straight up apology, with explanation for dessert, but he, strangely, held a finger to his lips.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Um...Everywhere? Are you mad?"

"..." He sighed, "No. But that doesn't mean that this should become a regular occurrence, querida. I mean it. We'll fight later. Now, you need to rest, heal. Can I do anything?"

The look in my eyes was too obvious, so I shut them. It was selfish, and, well, not good. For him. Or me. Technically. I wanted to feel a ghostly hand touch my cheek, and a weight settle beside me on the bed. I wanted to keep this feeling of security.

"Well...I'll be around, Susannah. If you need me- just whisper."

I opened my eyes hurriedly, but too late. He had dematerialised. I'm sure if he'd known how annoying that is, he wouldn't dare do it so often. I wanted to sigh his name, bring him back to me...But no. Definitely, no. Very definitely.

I turned over, and tried to get back to sleep, slightly disgusted at how goofy and lovesick I became occasionally. It was like...like...Jesse-itis. I giggled sleepily, winced, and slept.

In the morning, things looked a lot more positive. Ah, the joys of showering when you're bruised and bleeding. Then, the pleasure of working out which outfit covers the damage best, and doesn't look too suspicious. Oh yeah, and a lot of aspirin.

I moved through breakfast and out towards the car in about three seconds, avoiding too many questions about my face, which was toned down, but impossible to disguise completely. Munching breakfast while Sleepy got in to drive, and Brad hit the back seat, I wondered if I could see Jesse this morning before school- better to have the argument out of the way sooner, then we could get to the good bit: making up. Or should I say 'out?'

I grinned, feeling much more like my normal self, and squashing the tiny voice which recalled Jesse's disappointed tone last night, and the nightmare. I couldn't remember exactly what had happened; but I was damn sure it wasn't good. I vaguely remembered a scent. But at that point, Sleepy, who was, unfortunately, not asleep, had seen the bruise.

"Whoa, Suze, where'd you get that shiner?" I thought he was talking about my necklace for a moment, and brightened. Then realised.

"Um...None of your business." For a moment he looked concerned. And, strangely, Jesse-esque. The similarity made me elaborate before I'd thought it through.

"Fine, fine, don't nag. I tripped on the damn step. Happy now? Laugh all y'like." I defended, in an acting forte which would have made Keira Knightly blush in envy. It went down reasonably well. They exploded with laughter.

"Serious?"

"Suze the stooge, eh?"

"Klutz!"

I gave them my most lethal glare. It didn't work so well at first, but after prolonged exposure, the laughter subsided to occasional sniggers. Those, I could live with.


End file.
